That's What Hereos Do
by dawnofme
Summary: Rewrite of Season five Ats episode: Shells. Spike and Angel join the Mile High Club.


**That's What Heroes Do**

The private jet whined softly as it cut through the sky at unfathomable speeds. Spike downed another tiny bottle of Jack and sat back in his seat. He hadn't even bothered with a seat belt this time. Angel wouldn't look at him, and it was unnerving to say the least. Spike glanced at his growing collection of empty mini bottles of booze and scoffed.

"Can't even get drunk." He cocked his head to the side. "Why would anyone ever make a bottle this small?" He held up the bottle of Jack and studied it. "It's inhuman."

No matter what he tried to do to get it out of his head, his inner voice kept screaming, 'Fred! Fred! Fred!' Save Fred or save a third of the world. And he knew Angel was hurting even more than he was.

"Thousands would have died if we'd saved her," Spike said, in earnest, gazing at Angel.

"Yeah."

Unable to stay put, Spike got up and stood in the aisle by Angel's seat. Hesitantly, he reached out and squeezed Angel's shoulder.

"She wouldn't have wanted that."

Angel gently pushed Spike's hand away and exhaled slowly.

"Yeah. I tried calling Wes. There was no answer."

Spike turned his back on Angel and tried to compose himself, forcing away the angry tears threatening to spill over. He whispered,

"I guess she's gone, then."

Losing his composure, Spike strode over to the empty bottles and shoved them off the table in one swipe. The fact that they wouldn't even smash into bits the way a large bottle would have angered him. He yelled out in frustration, looking around for something else to destroy, and bumped into Angel. s

"Stop!" Angel demanded, gripping Spike's shoulders firmly. "This is not helping."

"Helping," Spike said, bordering on hysteria. Then he looked up, gazing into Angel's tortured eyes and his anger deflated. "Back at the Deeper Well, you called me a champion."

Angel let his hands drop and took a step back, but he didn't break eye contact. Instead, he gave Spike an almost imperceptible nod.

"I saved the world from the First and took out a legion of uber-vamps, but I couldn't save the most deserving woman from one bloody demon god?" Spike dipped his head low and added, "Some bleedin' champion I've turned out to be."

"Spike, no," Angel said softly, barely able to talk.

Angel touched his shoulder and the air in the cabin suddenly changed. The despair and heaviness was replaced with longing for comfort. Angel's expressive eyes were saying something he'd seen little of since he'd gotten his soul.

It was hard to tell who made the first move, but in a blink, Spike found himself embraced by strong arms as he clung to Angel, gripping his jacket and burying his head in his chest. They both struggled, unsuccessfully, to hold back sobs.

Spike briefly thought about how bizarre it was to find comfort in the arms of his grandsire. They'd never been gentle or loving towards each other, so he could only guess that it was the souls. He let go and watched Angel, curious to see the older vampire's reaction. His dark eyes were wide, a stunned expression on his face.

Spike shook his head, trying to clear it. It was just too much. Grief, shock, solidarity, and an underlying attraction that he'd always fought, even when, in the beginning, Angelus appeared to be all for it. He didn't want to think about it.

"It's the souls," Spike blurted out, wiping at his own tears with the sleeve of his coat.

"Um, what about them?" Angel said, dropping his hands, but staying close.

"If we didn't have them, we wouldn't care about a slip of a human girl. We'd turn this jet around and go back to the mother country and have us a marvelous time. A guilt free, glorious holiday."

"Yeah, well, I do care," Angel said with a grimace.

"I know that I haven't known her as long at the rest of you have, but I care about her--deeply. She was the only one who treated me well when I showed up. The only one to have a kind word. She tried; she worked hard to get me back."

"And we're going to work hard to find a way to get her back," Angel snarled. "This thing is not going to beat us." He dropped his head and sighed, then stared at Spike again. "I know I asked you to go away—you can be so annoying. But it's...good that you're here, and...and I hope you'll stick around to help us," Angel quickly mumbled that last bit.

"I'm not going anywhere. Even if you didn't think you needed me, I'd still fight for Fred."

"Good," Angel stated, then turned to walk away.

Without thought, Spike reached out and gripped his arm. Angel turned back and stared expectantly.

"I'm...uh...that is, I'm glad you want me to stick around."

Angel's eyes flashed with desire as he pulled Spike to him. Their eyes met. Spike jerked his hand up, gripped Angel by the back of the neck and dragged him down for a searing kiss. Their lips mashed together in the same way that they fought. Hard, fast and full of effort.

Their jackets fell to the floor. Then Spike fumbled with the buttons on Angel's shirt while Angel tried to pull Spike's t-shirt off. Bare-chested, they admired each other. Spike was amazed at how over one hundred and twenty years could go by, and yet, they still looked young and fresh and bloody damn good.

They kissed again, their naked torsos deliciously sliding together. Spike forced himself not to sigh from the pleasure of connecting and touching another body. It had been so long since he'd been close to someone, but he didn't want to come off like a ponce.

"Wait." Spike put a hand over Angel's as he yanked on his belt.

"What?"

"Make sure you think about how much you despise me when you have...uh...your happy moment. We can't afford to lose your soul right now."

Scowling, Angel said, "Spike, you are not a virgin, nor are you pure in any way. I seriously don't think this is a danger."

"You don't think I could give you a happy moment?" Spike asked, feeling completely insulted. ROFL

"It's not that. I'm very sure you can give me a blissfully happy moment and that you're highly skilled in the art of love making, in fact, I'm counting on it," Angel said with an impatient growl.

"Oh, I'm skilled all right," Spike rumbled deeply. "I just don't want to fuck the soul right out of you."

"That's not going to happen," Angel said, knocking Spike's hand away and tugging on the belt. "But if you shut up and let me get you undressed, I promise to think about how irritating you are while I'm getting off."

"Good. Come here then."

Spike grabbed Angel's belt and had it undone before his own was thrown to the ground. He nuzzled Angel's neck, and then dropped feather light kisses down one side before switching to the other, moving up and stopping to take gentle nips at his ear. Pleased when Angel began to make poncy little whimpering sounds, Spike ran his hand down his broad chest and into the wide open front of his pants.

A couple of tugs and the pants were down at their feet. Spike continued to caress Angel's hips, then back up to his abdomen and down to his thighs. Angel thrust forward, his erection pushing against Spike's stomach, but he continued to tease the older vampire by touching everything except his cock.

Spike smirked as the thought crossed his mind that there was more than one way to drive Angel crazy. He raised both eyebrows and looked down in surprise when Angel fell to his knees, taking the tip of Spike's cock into his mouth. He decided that he liked this kind of crazy better: it came with much better rewards.

Exhausted, Angel opened the door to his suite; his jacket landing on the couch before the door shut softly behind him. It all hurt. His mind, his battered body and his grieving heart. He went to the bar, pulled out a clean glass and a bottle of whiskey. He stood there, just staring at it. He didn't have the energy to even dull the pain.

Fred was gone. Really not coming back gone. He couldn't fix it; couldn't be the hero. Illyria had been dealt a heavy blow, finding out that there was nothing left of her army of doom or her magnificent temple, but she was still going to need to be dealt with. For now, Wesley seemed to have that covered.

There was only so much he could take, though. And Spike disappearing as soon as they returned to the Wolfram and Hart building was not helping. He had seemed fine when they were working together to defeat Illyria.

He wondered if Spike had decided to leave after all. Dread and loss settled in the pit of his stomach as Angel thought about it. He'd lost Fred; he didn't want to lose Spike, too. Maybe Spike misunderstood him when he'd said that he needed Spike. He hadn't been talking just about saving Fred, he wanted Spike to stay around for him.

He let out a dejected sigh, but stood tall and tried to snap himself out of it. He frowned as he heard Spike's voice in his head, calling him the broody one. The edges of his mouth turned up as he entered his dark bedroom, thinking about how good Spike was at coming up with insulting nicknames. He stopped just inside the door and sniffed.

"Spike?"

"Who did you think it was, you bleedin' bog trotter?"

Spike paused and as Angel's eyes adjusted to the dark, he grinned, liking what he saw. Spike was obviously naked under the covers, his hair damp and curly. Angel didn't answer Spike's question but quickly shed his clothes and headed for the bathroom.

When he came out of the steamy bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, Spike ogled him.

"Took you long enough."

"Do you have to complain about everything?"

"Yeah, actually, I do." With a raised eyebrow, Spike watched the towel fall to the floor and quickly lifted the blankets. "Get in here."

Angel groaned as he lowered himself and slipped into the sheets. After being thrown out a high rise window and getting knocked around by a hell god, he wasn't feeling so good. He wrapped an arm around Spike's stomach and tried to pull him closer. Spike let out a groan to match Angel's.

"Be careful, love. That hell bitch got me in the stomach good."

"Oh, God, Spike," Angel said as it hit him. "Fred's gone for good and that abomination is walking around in her body."

Spike got his arm around him and they clung to each other. "I know. I feel so helpless. So useless."

"Me, too."

"But, we're going to tame that beastie or get rid of it all together and we're going to be there for Wes and be strong for the rest of them, because that's what heroes do," Spike said through his sniffles.

"Yes, that's what heroes do," Angel agreed, sniffling too.

"Look at us, acting like a couple of nancy boys."

Angel chuckled and hugged him tighter, being careful not to let his arms go below Spike's ribcage.

Spike said, "I would get all manly and shag you into mattress, but I hurt all over."

"You're not the one who got tossed out of a high rise window," Angel said, dryly. "It's going to take days to heal."

"Complain, complain," Spike sing-songed.

Angel stammered and was ready to tell him off, but Spike kissed him before he could. A long languid couple of minutes later, their lips parted.

"Best way to shut you up," Spike said. "I'll have to remember that in the future. Way to shut Angel up? Snog him. Check."

Angel closed his eyes and grumbled an incoherent reply.

"Speaking of snogging and shagging, that Nina chick has to go. I don't share."

"OK, but can we go to sleep now?"

"OK? Just like that?"

"Yes, I didn't like her that much anyway. And if Nina goes, Harmony does too."

With a loud snort, Spike said, "I haven't touched that since she was crying bloody tears and trying to kill me."

"Good. Because I'd hate to lose such an incompetent secretary. If she touches you, she's dust."

"I like it when you get jealous."

"Go to sleep, Spike."


End file.
